the emperor's dilemma
by Bondmaiden
Summary: There are no cars, no fancy Cadillacs with its polished hood chauffeuring him to school, nothing of the sort littering the roads. It's just him, the little shadow, and an ordinary morning for a school day. /AkaKuro somewhat AU/


**a/n: **have more akakuro feels. comments and reviews and favs are always appreciated! /throws feels

* * *

**the emperor's dilemma**

In the morning, Seijūrō holds his hand.

Tetsuya's warm and soft, lined with calluses from playing basketball too much, but that's their fault together—Seijūrō can't resist playing when Tetsuya asks him to, and vice versa. The streets are empty, save for a few chatty grandmothers and their grocery baskets, and they throw 'good morning' amongst themselves in perfect unison as they bustle about. There are no cars, no fancy Cadillacs with its polished hood chauffeuring him to school, nothing of the sort littering the roads. It's just him, the little shadow, and an ordinary morning for a school day.

From the housing areas, they make a left turn and head towards the town. The train will be at the station in twenty minutes and they do have to rush, so Seijūrō clasps Tetsuya's hands a little tighter as they quickened their pace. Poor Tetsuya's almost out of breath at the haste, his cheeks are streaked pink, but instead of fatigue, Seijūrō sees spiraling life in those eyes of his. They glow bright in the gentle morning sunlight, a contrast to his title as Teikō's shadow, and sometimes Seijūrō thinks that the true light in the team isn't Aomine—it's Kuroko Tetsuya instead.

As soon as they've both procured their tickets—Seijūrō struggles with extra changes a little and sweet Tetsuya lends him an extra twenty yen, and they both step together through the automated barriers, holding hands over the metal railings. The stairway stretches high above them, decorated with fanciful advertisements of dream getaways to France and Hawaii, and Seijūrō leans over to whisper a joke into Tetsuya's ear just to make him laugh. It's laughable, really, because Seijūrō's a nobody—he's just the captain of a small, middle-high school basketball club, and he doesn't own the riches to blow it all on some extravagant getaway for Tetsuya.

But it's okay.

Tetsuya just likes being by his side.

And he likes being just by Tetsuya's side too.

Anywhere's a vacation, even school, as long as they're together like this—holding hands, holding hands, holding _hands._

The train tracks are a bit crowded today and the flashing screen tells them that the train will be a bit late; apparently, someone's committed suicide by jumping in front of the oncoming train at the previous station, and the unfortunate delay makes his Tetsuya uncomfortable. No, he's not shuffling about because he's worried about being late to school. Nothing of the sort. He turns and fixes Seijūrō with a pained look, one that harbors despair at how the world easily snaps a life into two bits, and leans forward to rest his forehead on Seijūrō's shoulder. That's how Tetsuya is. Always easily affected, easily stained by his surroundings, and there's nothing that Seijūrō loves more than his lily of purity.

From their close proximity, Seijūrō catches a whiff of the shampoo Tetsuya uses. It's Ginvera's Green Tea Pomelo, a cheap store brand, and the chemical sweetness stings him a little out of melancholy. He doesn't know what it is, it makes his palms sweaty and his heart races, and his crimson eyes dart about surreptitiously. Nobody's looking. Everyone's too invested in their own morning woes of checking their phones or chatting up with one another. He's just here, all here together with Tetsuya.

And no one's keeping an eye on him.

So he dares himself a little to take a chance, a whimsical adolescent rush.

Burying his nose in the warm fluff of Tetsuya's hair, he wraps his arms around the boy's small frame and whispers that if they are late to school, then they might as well ditch it. Seijūrō's grades have always been good and he doesn't need school to keep it up—he can't say the same for average old Tetsuya of sixty marks, but he's a good tutor and any opportunity to teach Tetsuya is always a golden one. Those words of Seijūrō makes Tetsuya squirm in his embrace and then he's laughing again, muffled, returning the embrace with a warm flush washing over his neck to the tips of his ears.

"Yes," he says, breathless, because he likes to think that Tetsuya's always breathless with him, breathless out of love, "yes Akashi-kun, let's go to the town if we can't make it to school on time. Let's take the Yamanote line and go to Harajuku and have crepes there—"

Yes, Seijūrō says in his heart, because he cannot deny anything his precious Tetsuya requests.

It's brief, almost like a dying flame, and Seijūrō dares himself to take another chance as he swoops downwards and plants a chaste kiss on Tetsuya's forehead. A few girls are giggling beside him, gossipy schoolgirls of curled hair and avid followers of the _decora _culture, and he catches them tossing furtive looks amongst one another as they ogle their public display of affection. They've been noticed. Another heated rosiness takes Tetsuya's face by the storm and he tries to wriggle out of Seijūrō's hold, but Seijūrō's a petulant child sometimes, and he doesn't let go.

He lets himself laugh without the weight of a corporation bearing down his shoulders, and unwinds of all stiff responsibilities.

But it's not the same when his vision blurs down to a bleary realm, of faded glows and whispering shadows, and suddenly he finds himself lying down on a horizontal surface. His spine is cradled by the expert care of his expensive mattress, and wrapped around him are Egyptian cotton sheets of a high threadcount. The vast emptiness of his room stuns him for a moment there as he peers at the morning sunlight through the fall of his bangs, and once or twice, Seijūrō blinks his eyes—ruddy crimson and weathered gold, to make sure that he's not living in a fanciful dream.

Birds chirp outside the windows and he picks up the sound of maids bustling about in the hallways, hushed murmurings as part of their culture so as to not wake him up. And then everything strikes him like a solid blow from the back of his head. This is not Tokyo. This isn't Teikō days. This is Kyoto and Rakuzan, and basketball and megalomaniac corporations, and he's Akashi Seijūrō—the heir of his father's company, the supreme captain of the four generals, the emperor who sees it all.

Sometimes, he wonders if he's truly the emperor who sees it all when he doesn't even see the ghost of Tetsuya anymore.

With a sigh, nursing a bleeding heartache behind a deceitful apathy, Seijūrō uncurls himself from his bed and unbuttons the silken pajamas. The coolness of the fabric is like a smothering wetness over him, and he'd very much like to concentrate on the playback of his dream, of Tetsuya's warmth cradled against his body, of the comforting weight leaning on his shoulder, depending on him as though he is all, he is everything and absolute.

And so, Seijūrō begins his day from a scratch again.

From rewinding the memories of Tetsuya's smile—now owned by Kagami Taiga, to the solitude that embraces him like second skin. Seijūrō will never be there with Tetsuya anymore, never relive the glorious Teikō days of candid happiness and joyous celebrations, from Kise's arrival in the club to their first victory together as a team in a match.

And everything, everything's just a fanciful pauper's dream that breaks off like cheap paste jewelry, and he who owns it all will never truly own it all in the end.


End file.
